


Let Me Forget Me

by GreyLiliy



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Romance, Spark Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pharma calls Tarn for a meeting alone in the middle of Messatine after a particularly distressing day at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Forget Me

**Author's Note:**

> My half of an Art Trade! Right here! I haven’t done one of those in a while, but when the fantastic Data (dataglitch.tumblr.com) opened up for some, I couldn’t help myself! :D
> 
> In exchange for some fanart of the lovely Tyrest, Data wanted wanted romantic (as in two-sided) Pharma/Tarn fanfiction. Which I am oh so happy to deliver, even if this might be the sappiest thing I’ve ever written. :D
> 
> I hope you like it, Data! :D

Tarn arrived at the snow covered hill on the far side of Messatine, neatly settled between Delphi and his headquarters, a few minutes earlier than the agreed upon time. At the top of the peak, was a small outlook structure built at some unidentifiable point in time. If you could call a railing around a large flat piece of metal a structure, but it served the purpose of providing a flat place to stand that was uncovered by snow and dirt.

Tarn couldn’t recall if it was an Autobot or Decepticon who had set it up. It was void of either brand, and seemed to be a resting stop for either side. Pharma, who was even now standing against the railing looking out over the horizon, likely preferred it this way. A neutral meeting in the middle.

“It’s not often you request to see me,” Tarn said, stepping up onto the heavy platform. The sun lowered in the distance, bathing them both in shadows as he approached. His footsteps echoed heavily as he came to a stop just behind the small jet. “Dare I ask the occasion?”

“I lost a patient,” Pharma said, his voice level and devoid of emotion. His hand twitched around the edge of the railing, giving away his act. “It wasn’t a mercy I let slip away on purpose, or someone I helped pass on to further your habit, either.

“I simply lost this one,” Pharma said, the ache worming its way into his steady words. “I tried to save him and he let go, off to the Allspark, despite my best efforts.”

Tarn grabbed the railing with both of his hands. The side of his palm brushed alongside Pharma’s hand. He stared straight ahead, trying to pick which mountain had taken hold of Pharma’s dulled gaze. “If you couldn’t save him, I doubt anyone could.”

“That’s what Ambulon said.” Pharma’s fingers crawled across the rail and Tarn’s knuckles until his hand rested on the larger. Pharma laced their fingers together, squeezing tightly. “Aren’t you going to ask what that has to do with summoning you?”

“I had a feeling you’d get to that part on your own,” Tarn said. Pharma’s hand was warm on his own, and it lifted his spark. “I would hate to interrupt.”

“So polite,” Pharma said, “but the fact of the matter is, as I stood there with this lost patient, feeling like the world had crashed around me—all I wanted was to see you.”

A few inappropriate replies fell on Tarn’s tongue, but he managed to keep them to himself. Instead he remained silent, and held tight to Pharma’s hand in his as he waited for the jet to continue.

“You make me feel better, you see,” Pharma said. He reached up with his free hand and traced the edge of Tarn’s mask. In return, Tarn placed a hand on Pharma’s waist. “You’re one of the few people I know, who doesn’t care about my skills as a doctor. You appreciate them, naturally, but as long as I can swap out a T-cog you could care less if I were the best doctor in Iacon, or a lowly free-clinic nurse in Kaon.”

“Is that so?” Tarn asked, afraid to contradict the jet in such an odd and delicate moment. Pharma chuckled and drew his fingers down, tapping on Tarn’s chest drawing a rumble from his engines. Tarn asked, “How do I feel about you then?”

“You love me,” Pharma said. He hummed, his lips pursed and the sound delightful. “You love my face, and you love my charm. I think you love it most when I’m being sarcastic, or when I complain about First Aid and Ambulon. And I know you love it when I touch the sides of your face, and kiss your chest.”

“Leave it to an Autobot to speak truth,” Tarn said. He pressed the back of Pharma’s hand against the edge of his mask in a mock kiss, and released it. Tarn took Pharma around the waist, lifting the jet and sitting him on edge of the railing. The white horizon spilled out behind him, but Tarn was focused on Pharma’s blue gaze. “What else do I love about you?”

Pharma’s lips twitched, the edge of a smirk trying to break free. He leaned his head back, putting a finger on the edge of his chin in thought. After an elongated hum, Pharma pressed both of his palms flat along the treads on Tarn’s shoulders. He traced the intents and spaces, and licked his lips.

“You love,” Pharma said, “that I enjoy being in control. You like that I’m organized, but you love that I order you around. ‘Don’t touch that.’ ‘Don’t do this.’ Stop moving or ‘I’ll never get this cog in!’ are some of your favorites.”

“True again,” Tarn said. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the railing, cradling Pharma in near his chest. “There has to be more that I adore about you, my dear doctor.  Of that, I’m sure.”

“Well let me see,” Pharma said. “I’m sure I could go on, as you say, but aren’t you even a little curious?”

“Of?” Tarn asked. He rubbed Pharma’s back, slowly and soothingly, rubbing circles with his thumbs and fingers. “What should hold my curiosity, dear Doctor?”

“What it is I love about you,” Pharma said, almost a plea. “Why you’re the one I wanted to see after a bad day at work.”

“I’d listen if you care to tell me,” Tarn said, a shiver running down his back as Pharma tapped his fingers one at a time along his chest plate.

“Well,” Pharma said, drawing out the word. He tilted his head with a smirk, and walked his fingers up Tarn’s chest and over his neck cabling. They went to their favorite place, and un-clicked each of the latches that held Tarn’s faceplate in place. Pharma pulled it away, and held it near his waist. Pharma leaned up as he hugged the purple plate. “I really love your optics. I find the red ugly, but the way you look at me with such adoration and possession makes my spark flicker.”

Pharma held the face-plate out with one hand, his optics still locked with Tarn’s. He dropped it, the metal clanging as it met the ground, and let both of his hands find their way to Tarn’s face. He pressed his thumbs under Tarn’s optics, and slid his hands across and down until they cupped his helm gently. “I love the little scratches on your face.”

Pharma kissed two of those scars, gently. Oh, so gently. It was the caress that mechs of the Golden Age wrote about in their poetry. Pharma would have been the center of attention in their work had he existed then. He was perfection, in his manner and surly attitude. The jet hummed, his engine revving as Tarn rewarded the gentle love with a brush to his back with Tarn’s own hands.

“I love your taste in music, and your cultured ways,” Pharma said, his mouth brushing against Tarn’s cheek with each word. Little hints of touch that fluttered. “I love that you keep a copy of Megatron’s poetry in a hidden compartment just below your chest. I love that you do so, despite having them all memorized.”

“Could have sworn you hated that,” Tarn said. He rested his hands on Pharma’s hips, and smiled when the jet kicked him lightly in the shin. “You’ve only told me a thousand times.”

“I love,” Pharma continued, ignoring him, “the way you touch me.”

The jet steadied himself, using the grip on Tarn’s helm, and pressed their foreheads together.

“The way you kiss me.”

Pharma kissed him.

“The way you hold me like I’m a precious thing that might break.”

Pharma ran his hand down Tarn’s arm.

“The way you mutter, and the way you whine.”

Pharma dug his fingers into the crevices of Tarn’s paneling, and Tarn whined as they dug deep. Pharma knew him well.

“And I love the way your spark engulfs mine, making me forget that I even exist.”

Tarn crashed his mouth against Pharma’s, heavy and hard, crushing the jet against himself in a smothering embrace. Pharma squirmed, and adjusted in the tightened grip, kissing back with equal fervor. They kissed as if their sparks may be snuffed should they let go. Pharma’s hands clawing and clinging to every surface they could find, Tarn holding strong and steady.

They were on the freezing steel ground in the flicker of an optic.

Pharma was not a small mech by any means, but lying under Tarn, he felt immeasurably small under his larger frame. He took Tarn’s weight, however, insisting that Tarn’s hands were put to better use than holding himself up. Pharma wanted Tarn’s hands on his hips, and his chest. His wings and his face. Anywhere Tarn could touch. He’d say so, when his mouth was unoccupied from Tarn’s own lips.

Tarn obeyed these orders and their unspoken fellows.

Pharma pulled at the grooves in Tarn’s chest-plates. He slid down in Tarn’s arms, kissing the sealed seam. “Open, please. Tarn, please.”

Tarn felt no qualms obeying that order, either.

He opened the armor together with Pharma, the shining light of their sparks spreading a soft glow around the dark area. The sun had set long ago. Desperation connected the two spark chambers without foreplay, or need for instruction. They knew where to find each other without delay.

“Tarn!” Pharma shouted, throwing his arms around the tank’s neck as their life forces met. He kissed Tarn’s cheek with an open mouth, moaning through it as their sparks licked at each other. “Please, please.”

“Do you even know what you’re asking for any more?” Tarn whispered, holding Pharma so tightly to his chest that it snuffed out the light in the area. Their sparks were trapped deep within, only with each other. Always alone with each other. “What do you want?”

“To forget,” Pharma said. He gripped tightly, air cycling and venting heavily as their spark chambers clashed. “Make me forget today. Forget that poor mechs’ face as he slipped away. I don’t want to remember it. I failed. Make me forget I failed.”

“You’re Pharma,” Tarn said. His spark reached out, a tendril at a time. He reached, touching but not taking. They glanced against each other, the electricity of their very souls spreading through their forms. “Nothing you touch is failure. You’re perfect.”

“Flatterer,” Pharma whispered.

“I only speak truth to you,” Tarn said.

“Then stop making me wait,” Pharma said. He bit the edge of Tarn’s mouth, harsh and demanding. “Come inside.”

“As you wish,” Tarn said.

Pharma cried out, throwing his head back, and his hands gripped so tightly to Tarn that the metal beneath them dented. Tarn had come inside as invited, his spark engulfing Pharma’s completely. The utter most joining of two beings, their two souls one. The meeting was a flash, with the intensity of two stars colliding.

Yet the world around them remained dark, save for the soft glow of red and blue optics.

They held each other, in body and soul. Whether limbs, or tendril of spark, Tarn engulfed Pharma into his being. Bent metal, and sparks devoured. His beautiful, aching, strong, fierce, and passionate, dear Doctor. He belonged to Tarn. This was their passion. Their moment when Pharma and Tarn ceased to be anything other than the pleasure they found in each other’s embrace.

Such passions are brief, however. Tarn knew their limits, and he knew the care needed for such an act. He loved Pharma far too dearly to absorb him away, so they parted after a time far too short. The whine that loosed from Pharma’s vocalizer as he drew away, as devastating as anything Tarn could imagine.

Chest plates closed, swiftly and quietly. In the haze that followed their disconnect, they rested against each other. The world dark, but their sparks warmed. They had felt each other, and they knew. Nothing could be hidden. Nothing forgotten.

Pharma brushed his fingertips against the side of Tarn’s face, each one trailing a different scar. His voice was a hint of sound: “I still remember.”

“We never truly forget our failures. They fester like open wounds,” Tarn said. He kissed the top of Pharma’s optic. “But I hope to soothe them enough that you can bring it repair.”

“Never be a medic, Tarn,” Pharma chuckled. He nuzzled the side of Tarn’s face with his nose. “I fear far more than the sacrifices for your dirty habits would perish on the table.”

“Maybe that’s why I leave such things to you, my dear doctor.”

“Perhaps,” Pharma said through a sigh. His arms went limp, still loosely wrapped around Tarn. “I love how heavy you are.”

Tarn hummed, listening quietly to Pharma’s mumblings. He had such a tendency to loose his tongue after an interface. They could lie in each others arms for hours, forgetting everything around them—even themselves. Here together, in the middle of a snow covered field on a steel platform. Tarn sated, and Pharma mumbling.

Tarn loved it.


End file.
